


Never Say Never (say how you feel)

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, Sexual Situations, but no actual sex - sorry!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: A list of things Jesse McCree has never done:- spent the night with a lover without having sex- kept a lover for more than a handful of encounters- had a friend-with-benefits he actually considered a friend- or had a lover he actually loved.There's a first time for everything.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Jesse adjusts his collar, fidgets with his rolled-up sleeves, tousles his hair 'til he's satisfied it's just the right shade of charmingly disheveled, and only then does he blow out a deep breath and leave his room.

 

It's late. Everyone else is probably already in bed, though there's a ferocious stream of Korean drifting out into the hallway from under Hana's door. Jesse ignores it and continues on. His destination, regardless of whether he's ready for it or not, is waiting for him at the end of the hall.

 

It arrives both too slowly and far, far too soon. Hanzo's door stands virtually identical to all the others in this part of the building but to Jesse it may as well be cast in solid gold, for how intimidating it seems in this moment.

 

He drags to a stop before it. His heart is pounding; he can feel it, the tingle of blood in his flesh fingertips, a dull, thumping ache at the join of his prosthesis. Y _ou're bein' a fool, McCree,_ he chides himself. _Ain't no good reason this time shouldn't be like any of the times before._

 

Anxiety keeps its claws in him anyway.

 

This all started with a series of stolen, fleeting moments. Well, to tell the whole truth, it started with a bottle of the finest single malt Gibraltar's stores had to offer and a mission that cut a little close to the quick. Hanzo and McCree had both been tipsy, amped up on on the thrill of survival, and Jesse'd let his gaze linger a touch too long, admiring the archer's hard-won smile, when he suddenly found it much closer to his own. Found a warm, solid body maneuvering into his lap.

 

It was a surprise, to be sure, but Jesse had no complaints as Hanzo leaned in to kiss him. Even fewer when a few minutes later Hanzo plucked open his belt-buckle, slid his hand down between cloth and skin and curled it, hot and rough, around Jesse's eager flesh.

 

He didn't expect anything the next morning. Alcohol and adrenaline are the parents of poorly-planned decisions – Jesse's no stranger to that fact. So he acted like nothing at all had changed (which to all intents and purposes was true), and Hanzo did the same, and that was that.

 

Until it happened again a few weeks later.

 

The third time, they barely drank a drop before hands and mouths went roaming.

 

It became habit, as these things do. Handjobs in the training room showers after a late-night marksmanship competition. Jesse pushing Hanzo into a hallway closet after a debriefing, dropping to his knees. Just last week, a spectacular round of frottage up against Jesse's bedroom door, Hanzo stifling the noises he was making with vicious bites along Jesse's collarbone as he jerked them together, fast and rough and wet.

 

And that's not counting the times they actually made it to a bed.

 

But no matter how far they've gone, it's always been spur-of-the-moment. Never planned. Only a shift in the mood to _'hey, you want this? let's go' –_ zero to sixty in the span of seconds. Jesse's never had time to think about it before. The thinking is the problem; the thinking is what's getting under his skin.

 

This morning, Hanzo brushed against Jesse's side as he was clearing up after breakfast. He pressed close, under the pretense of dropping his bowl and cutlery into the hot water, and breathed “come to my room tonight” into Jesse's ear – and Jesse, mistaking the twinge in his gut for anticipation, quietly but enthusiastically agreed.

 

So, now, here he is.

 

 _It's just blowing off steam_ , he reminds himself. Something to take the edge off, to help them both relax. Just sex. Good sex – hell, _great_ sex, with an attractive partner, one he can trust not to pull a knife on him when he's blissed-out and vulnerable. Doesn't have to be anything more or anything less.

 

He knocks on the door and waits, pulse kicking like the beat of a bass drum.

 

Hanzo opens the door. He's freshly showered, hair loose and damp, clothed in only a pair of sweatpants and an old, worn gi, which he's generously left untied and open to expose a wide strip of his muscular torso. Water drips from the ends of his hair, runs in shining trails down his chest.

 

Jesse's nerves twist. He swallows them down and tucks his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt. Smiles his most charming smile.

 

“Howdy,” he says.

 

The tip of Hanzo's tongue flickers across his lips. “Hello,” he replies.

 

“Someone ordered a cowboy?”

 

Hanzo rolls his eyes and stands aside to let Jesse pass. “Come in before I change my mind.”

 

Jesse steps forward on autopilot. The door slides shut behind him. “So,” he drawls, crowding into Hanzo's space with a deliberate swagger in his hips and a heavy-lidded smirk on his face, “how'd you want it, this time? 'Cause I got a few ideas.” Hanzo's response is to wrap his arms around him, take two handfuls of Jesse's ass and squeeze. He stretches up on his toes, nips at Jesse's lips, and swallows the noise Jesse makes with a fierce kiss.

 

It's easiest from there to let instinct take over. Jesse's body knows how this works; no need to get his brain involved. Hanzo smells good, and tastes good, and lets out those delicious growling breaths when Jesse rakes his fingers through his hair and down his spine. Easy. He could do this in his sleep.

 

He lets Hanzo push him back on the bed and crawl up over him. This feels good, _god_ , does it feel good. It always does. Hanzo approaches sex the way he seems to approach everything else – like a challenge to his skill, like he's a defending champion entering a titleship match – and Jesse's not about to complain, no siree, not when he's the beneficiary of such full-minded focus.

 

Still his thoughts keeps churning, even as he clutches Hanzo to him, moans long and low as the archer sucks marks into his neck, little things that will have faded by morning.

 

Hanzo gets one leg shoved between Jesse's thighs, his breath coming out in short, controlled pants as he ruts down in little rolls against Jesse's hip. He digs his hands into the fat at Jesse's waist – the way he always does when he's a hair's breadth from tearing off their remaining clothes, from rolling them over so he can work Jesse open, so he can fuck up into Jesse hard and deep and fast, until Jesse's voice is hoarse and his knees weak.

 

By now Jesse should be gagging for it. Normally he would be. He tries to focus on the physical sensations, hoping to catch that spark of arousal in his gut and fan it into a flame.Trouble is, willing though the body is, the mind just won't play ball – the more he tries the less connected he feels to what's happening, and instead his brain shies the other way, closer to all the things he's been trying to ignore.

 

_It ain't gonna work if you force it, boy._

 

The thought comes sudden, with startling clarity. His eyes snap open.

 

This isn't what he wants. Not like this.

 

The thing is, Jesse knows he's gone. He tries his best to be honest with himself, since he can't trust the rest of the world to pay him the courtesy, so yeah, he knows he's gone on Hanzo something fierce. Has been for a while now and it ain't showing any sign of stopping. But he's always been a practical sort too, able to see the wood for the trees and the fire for the smoke. He knows first-hand how the world works and he adapts as needed; he gets the most out of bad situations and takes the hits as they come. So he hasn't put an end to anything like maybe he should've. He's had Hanzo's friendship and occasionally Hanzo's lust, and that was just fine and dandy. Two out of three ain't bad, right? More than he ever thought he'd get.

 

He just didn't expect it to start hurting like it does.

 

He flips them over before Hanzo can notice he's not doing anything but lying there, and sits up, brushing his hair back off his face.

 

Hanzo leers up at him. “Oh? Change of plans, cowboy?” he teases, his voice thick and husky. “Are you going to show me one of your _ideas?_ ”

 

Sweat shines in the hollow of his throat and glistens over his naked chest, the thick swell of his pecs heaving with his heavy breaths. He's sprawled with his arms above his head, legs splayed wide around Jesse's thighs; his sweatpants are pulled low on his muscular hips, tented out obscenely with the heft of his cock, wetness staining the grey cloth dark where he's already leaking.

 

He's staring up at Jesse like a starving man at a feast.

 

Jesse curses quietly and squeezes his eyes shut. Here it is, the hottest thing he's ever seen – this gorgeous, powerful man lying beneath him, hungry and eager and _wanting him_ – and it's probably the last chance he'll get to witness it, seeing as Hanzo's bound to realize any moment now something's up. Who wouldn't be insulted, being suddenly rejected for no apparent reason just as the going got good? Damn it, why can't this be enough? Why can't things just stay _simple?_

 

“McCree?”

 

He sighs, rubs his eyes and drops his hand, and looks down. Hanzo's still flushed but his eyes have sharpened, arousal fading into puzzled concern. He props himself up on his elbows. “What is the matter?” he asks.

 

“Nothin', I-” Jesse shakes his head. “Nothin'.”

 

Hanzo raises a sharply trimmed brow. “If that is the case, why have we stopped?”

 

Jesse has to look away to get the words out. “Gotta be honest, Han, I... I ain't feelin' it. Not right now.”

 

“..I see.”

 

“Yeah. So, I'm gonna hit the brakes. ..Sorry.”

 

Jesse shuffles backwards from between Hanzo's legs and clambers off the bed. He looks around, ignoring the silence from the bed behind him. Where did Hanzo toss his shirt..? Ah, there it is, under the desk.

 

He bends to pick it up. The sleeves are inside-out; he passes his hands through them to put them right.

 

The bed creaks. Hanzo pads past him to the narrow window, cracks it open enough for a draft of cool sea air to whistle in and dissipate the faint scent of sex. He clears his throat. “If I have overstepped my bounds-” he starts.

 

“What? No, no, that's not it.” Jesse glances over, but Hanzo's turned away, looking out of window, his face hidden behind the fall of his hair. “Look, I thought I was gonna be in the mood tonight, but I'm not. S'all there is to it, Hanzo, it's nothin' you did.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Yeah. So I, uh, guess I'll get out of your hair, then.”

 

Hanzo looks at him over his shoulder. His dark eyes are inscrutable. “I am not kicking you out,” he says, a little pinch in the corner of his mouth that could be a smile or a frown.

 

“Well, I mean...” Jesse pulls on his shirt. “You don't want me to leave so you can...” he pumps his fist a couple times down by his hip.

 

The pinch quirks into a quick smile. Hanzo shakes his head. “There is no need. The moment has passed.”

 

 _No need_ , he says, when he's still sporting a semi in his sweats. “Alright, if you say so,” Jesse shrugs, wondering how Hanzo can flip so quick from raring-to-go to his specific brand of aloof and unconcerned. Jesse isn't even in the mood, and he's still certain he's gonna have a B-reel of Hanzo all mussed and greedy playing in the back of his mind for months. “M' sorry for leavin' you in the lurch, anyhow. Weren't my intention to give you blue balls.”

 

Hanzo puffs a little laugh. “I will survive somehow, I'm sure,” he says dryly. “And your apology, while appreciated, is unnecessary. Believe it or not I do prefer my partners to be actively enjoying themselves.”

 

Jesse can't resist a wink. “Trust me darlin', you got nothin' to worry about on that front. This whole thing's been plenty o' fun.”

 

Something odd passes quickly over Hanzo's face, too quick for Jesse to decipher. “Fun. Yes.” He turns back to the window. “You are feeling well, I trust?”

 

“Eh, well enough.” _Except for this damn tugging in my chest every time you look at me_. Jesse palms the back of his neck. “Just tired, I guess.”

 

“Will you sleep?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“If you return to your room now, will you be able to sleep?”

 

Jesse drags his hand round to scratch through his beard. “I'd like to be able to say yes, but...”

 

A grunt of understanding from Hanzo. “Much as we may wish them to be, such things are often, regrettably, not within our control.”

 

“Ain't that the truth.”

 

With a sigh Hanzo leans against the windowframe and crosses his arms. “I have a bottle of honjozo sake around here somewhere,” he says, with a vague wave of a hand. “Perhaps we could... Would you care to indulge with me?”

 

Jesse shakes his head. “Appreciate the offer, sweetheart, but you know that stuff's wasted on me. You like it, you keep it for yourself.”

 

Hanzo's face flickers again with that odd expression before he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, the tone of his voice mild and bland.

 

Though the archer's a hard fella to read at the best of times, Jesse likes to think he's gotten past a few of his barriers. Added to which, Jesse's _good_ at reading people. Very good. When being able reading a room at a glance might be the only thing to save your hide, you learn pretty damn quick to be good at it. So he can tell Hanzo's lying. Or – maybe lying's too harsh, but he's hiding something: voice too flat, too casual, at odds with the too-still slope of his shoulders and the grip of his fingers on his sleeve.

 

“Unless, o'course,” Jesse says slowly, “you'd rather I stayed.”

 

“That is not necessary.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Hanzo stays silent. Jesse's just about to cut his losses and bid him goodnight when Hanzo takes a deep, slow breath, and speaks.

 

“Today is... my birthday,” he grumbles, nose wrinkled like the word carries a particularly distasteful smell. He holds up a hand and carries on swiftly before Jesse can sputter any congratulatory noises. “Do not start a fuss. I care little for the occasion; it has held no value to me since since I turned twenty, and even less so now.”

 

“Alright, fair enough I guess.” Jesse finds himself at a loss for how to react. “Do any of the others know? Save for Genji, obviously.”

 

Hanzo grimaces. “No.”

 

“Right. Well... Seems a shame, is all. We all come together and celebrate everyone else's birthdays, reckon it'd make 'em feel bad if they thought you were missin' out.”

 

“But I am not,” Hanzo insists. “I mean it, I truly prefer no fuss. Hana, Reinhardt, the others; they mean well, but-” he sighs. “I find the date has always carried these... expectations. Things I was supposed to have done by a certain age. Ideas of the type of man I was meant to embody. The man I was meant to _be._ Meeting all those expectations was difficult. Some of them were... harder to fulfill than others, and...” He shakes his head. “Usually I let the date pass unacknowledged.”

 

“So why let me know?” asks Jesse.

 

Hanzo grunts. “Genji has been pestering me to _enjoy myself_ more,” he complains. Then he looks down, uncharacteristically shy. “..And I thought you might understand. You usually do.”

 

Jesse does understand. He knows how it feels to hate the passing of time, to resent it dragging you into the future whether you're ready for it or not, the guilt of another year being added to your life when others who deserve it far more will never get the chance to grow any older. He _knows_ , and it doesn't surprise him at all that this is yet another thing he and Hanzo share, though it does twist the ache in his chest a notch tighter.

 

No wonder Hanzo wanted distracting company.

 

“I will not monopolize any more of your time if you wish to go,” Hanzo mutters, busying his hands with rewrapping his gi. “Your company, however, would... be appreciated. In whatever manner you are willing to give it.”

 

 

His nerves still want him to turn tail and leave, but Jesse beats them down. He can't leave a man to wallow on his lonesome on his birthday, least of all a friend. Just ain't right. If it's in his power to make Hanzo feel better, to give him more positive associations for his birthday, then he's gonna, sex or no sex, awkwardness and Jesse's own heartache be damned.

 

So he sucks it up, puts on a cheerful face and nudges Hanzo with his elbow.

 

“Hey. You said somethin' about a drink?”

 

And the ache lessens, just a bit, when Hanzo's face softens into a small, grateful smile.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 84 years...
> 
> didn't mean to abandon this for so long but uhh... i got distracted by voltron? and right now i'm being _completely annihilated_ by mo dao zu shi. so that's my excuse.
> 
> god it feels so good to be writing mchan again tho i love them ;-;
> 
> anyway enjoy!

 

Jesse wakes slowly.

 

This is unusual. Most days he's brought back to wakefulness with a sudden jolt of adrenaline, bringing him fully alert and ready to act before he's properly aware he's even conscious again. Wholly rude and unnecessary on the part of his nervous system, in his opinion, but hypervigilance has kept him alive thus far so he supposes he can't complain. Much.

 

Now, he's warm. Not the too-hot, sweating-from-night-terrors kinda warm; this is a blissful kind, the kind that _is_ kind, that sinks into sore muscles and eases out tension he wasn't even aware he was carrying.

 

Still half asleep he smiles and leans into the heat, content to drift off again. It's the noise that brings him round. A quiet buzz, a soft tapping. Gradually his brain comes back online to put the clues together: the sounds, the sensations, the faint scent of ozone on the pillow beneath his cheek.

 

The night before yawns and wakes with a stretch across his memory. It waves a desultory hello, points out, _yes,_ that sure is Hanzo’s body providing the heat he’s been luxuriating in. That sure is Hanzo’s skin pressed against his knee. Better buckle up, Jesse, because you definitely turned him down for sex last night, definitely stayed up late with him despite that, definitely fell asleep in his bed – and from the sounds of it Hanzo's already awake, ruining any chance of slipping away unnoticed without causing a scene.

 

Hanzo shifts and sniffs quietly. The tapping continues – is he on his tablet again? Jesse peeks an eye open in time to see Hanzo shift on to his back, dropping his phone to his bare chest. He lifts his arms, elbows pointed to the ceiling, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, thick fingers digging into his hairline. He mutters something to himself, then abruptly rolls over, pressing close to Jesse and reaching over him for something on the bedside table.

 

The motion pushes his chest deliciously against Jesse's shoulder. Jesse freezes. Hanzo pauses, arm still outstretched, and looks down.

 

Jesse's eyes must be wide as dinnerplates. “Uh.” His voice is dry. “Mornin'.”

 

Hanzo nods. “Good morning,” he says, apparently completely unselfconscious, like waking up with half-naked colleagues in his bed is an everyday thing for him. He takes the glass of water off the table and drinks, unwittingly giving Jesse a prime view of the bob of his throat as he swallows, then puts the glass back down and licks his wet lips. “Did you sleep well?”

 

Jesse clears his throat. “Time's'it?”

 

“Almost eight.”

 

“Huh.”

 

Thankfully before Jesse can embarrass himself Hanzo puts some space between them again and settles on his back with a sigh. His phone buzzes; he fishes it out from under him, swipes at it and frowns at whatever's on his screen.

 

Jesse watches as subtly as he can. He never would've guessed fastidious, well-groomed Hanzo Shimada would have such atrocious bedhead, but here it is. You learn something new every day. Hanzo's eyebrows are messy too, a few of the hairs bent out at funny angles, and there's a touch of dried drool he doesn't seem to have noticed at the corner of his mouth.

 

Probably it should seem disgusting, or at the very least not appealing, but Jesse is taken suddenly with the urge to point it out to him with a kiss. He wants to wash it away with a stroke of his tongue, to tame Hanzo's wayward brows with brushes of his lips, to – to _groom him_ like some kinda animal.

 

Not the kind of treatment Hanzo would appreciate, no doubt.

 

His guts twist with a vengeance that has nothing to do with the alcohol. They didn't drink near enough for that. He turns his head away and closes his eyes.

 

Friends with benefits is all well and good, but Jesse had to go and catch _feelings_ , didn't he? It's almost enough to make him wish it was still five months ago, that night when he and Hanzo drank together, when they found themselves fumbling their hands beneath each other's belts. If only Jesse hadn't drunk so much, so he wouldn't have lost his sense of caution. Or drunk more, and been too lost to the wind to do anything else. If only Hanzo hadn't chosen that night to be friendlier than usual. If only the sex hadn't been so good. If only it hadn't stayed so good after the thrill of newness wore off. If only Jesse'd had the sense, after four or five nights together, to see where this was going to end up; to see where his poor dumb heart was gonna lead him. If only he'd never stayed last night. Never found out what Hanzo looks like in the morning, hair tousled and pale light caressing his skin.

 

But even thinking about being without this makes him ache.

 

His tongue rides out without him. “What're we doin', Han?”

 

Hanzo spares him a brief glance. “Getting up for breakfast, I would suggest.”

 

“Right.” _That's not what I meant and you know it_ , Jesse wants to say. He sits up and drags his hand through his tangled hair. “Listen, Hanzo--”

 

“I know routine means little to you but I am far behind schedule,” Hanzo interrupts. He climbs out of bed, practically vaulting over Jesse's legs, and disappears into the bathroom, all apparent ease of the minutes before lost beneath the tight set of his shoulders.

 

With a sigh Jesse, too, forces himself to leave the lingering warmth of the sheets. They get ready for the day in awkward silence. All the while Jesse's inner cynic crows in his ear, dripping poisonous thoughts about how it knew last night this was a bad idea, how inevitable it was that this would all go wrong. It's hard to tune it out, gripped as he is by the awful, hollowed-out instinct that something precious is slipping through his fingers faster than he can grab hold to salvage it. Hanzo's a friend before anything else, and Jesse cares for him; it _hurts_ to see him stiff and quiet and walling himself off – but hell, isn't that how he got into this mess? The caring?

 

God damn, he's sick to death of not being able to keep the ones he holds most dear.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he's pulling on his jeans. He reads the message, frowns.

 

“Hey Hanzo. Mind explainin' why your brother's tellin' me to call you a coward?”

 

Hanzo goes oddly pale, stilling for a moment with hands still buried in his hair. “Don't expect me to explain every one of my brother's whims,” he says after a moment, finishing tying his ribbon. “He made little sense when we were children. Age has not improved the matter.”

 

Jesse raises a brow. “Uh huh. What's goin' on?”

 

Hanzo lasts ten seconds fussing with his hair before he caves. “It – Genji is – merely being tiresome,” he sighs, shoulders creeping up toward his ears. “You should ignore him. This is no problem of yours to concern yourself with.”

 

“Kinda became my problem when Genji dragged me in.”

 

“He should not have involved you.”

 

“Yeah, probably not. If the two o' you are havin' a tiff, I ain't really keen on gettin' caught in the crossfire.”

 

Hanzo's already nodding. “Of course. It is not fair to you.” He rubs his chest. “It is unfair... You deserve better than to be treated in such a way.”

 

“Well, appreciate you sayin' so, but it ain't that serious, surely,” Jesse says, bemused. It's not unusual for brotherly teasing between the Shimadas to toe too close to the line – though thankfully the line itself is more flexible and less explosive than it used to be. The two of them have made great progress, they really have. That doesn't mean there aren't still landmines buried between them for one or the both of them to occasionally trip over.

 

Jesse's about to write this incident off as one of the same; would have, if it weren't for the shade that comes over Hanzo's face. Only for a moment, but long enough to recognize the same odd, unsure expression he'd caught the night before.

 

He gives him a nudge. “Han? Seriously, what's up? I'm startin' to worry, here.”

 

“I...”

 

“..You?” He tilts his head, but Hanzo won't meet his eye. “C'mon. What were you gonna say?”

 

“Nothing. Only silly, sentimental nonsense.” Hanzo grimaces and shakes his head. “I am a fool.”

 

“Nothin' wrong with a bit of sentiment now an' then.” No response. Jesse goes on, feeling more of a hypocrite with each word that leaves his mouth. “We’re friends, yeah? Like you said last night, we understand each other. Don’t want you feelin' like you got to bottle things up around me, that you ain't free to express yourself-”

 

“It is nothing,” Hanzo insists, speaking over him. “Only that my pest of a brother feels the need to – _aggravate_ me at every opportunity.”

 

“Well, that's his way of showin' he cares.”

 

“Hn.”

 

“What bone is he chewin' this time?”

 

Hanzo smoothes the non-existant wrinkles from his gi and crosses his arms tight. “Just – comments.” He sneers. “It appears he has… come to some incorrect conclusions, regarding the nature of our relationship.”

 

“..Incorrect. Huh.”

 

“He... assumes things that are not so.”

 

“And what is it that _'ain't so',_ exactly?”

 

Hanzo frowns.

 

Jesse shouldn't be getting upset. It's insulting, _hurtful_ , that Hanzo seems so angry Genji could assume more than is there, but he's also uncomfortably aware he has no real right to feel wronged. Jesse's the one who's been lying, after all. Lying to himself; lying to both of them.

 

He shouldn't be upset. But he can't stop now he's started.

 

“The 'nature of our relationship' – what even is that?”

 

“How should I know?” Hanzo snaps. “What way would you describe it?”

 

“Well I don't know either!”

 

“Then what is your problem?!”

 

Jesse turns away with a growl, dragging his hand through his hair. He grits his teeth, then drops his shoulders with a shuddering sigh. “I... I just... I do know what I _want_ it to be.”

 

 _End of the line, cowboy_. He squares off.

 

“I'm in love with you.”

 

The words are met with silence.

 

He shuts his eyes. His fingers are shaking. “You don't – you don't gotta say nothin'. Hell, I intended on keepin' this all to myself; it's what I usually do. Easier to keep it locked up tight. Safer that way, y’know? Less liable to do harm.

 

“But last night I realized... I'm so damn tired of lying, Hanzo. Especially to you. I’m tired of livin' in the dark, acting like I don't got a need for anything softer. When I decided to answer the Recall, before I came here, I told myself – McCree, you're gonna do better this time. You're gonna be a better man. And that means no more hidin' shit from the folks who're important to me. Means telling the truth. So... here I finally am, I guess. Tellin' it to you.”

 

Hanzo is staring at him, mouth agape.

 

It'd be cute, if it was a reaction that bode at all well. Even so, now the secret's out Jesse feels curiously freed, cleansed of the anxiety that's been building for the past 24 hours like an infection drained from a wound. “I'm not expecting anythin',” he assures. “You don't gotta reciprocate. I know you likely ain't interested and that's fine. I don’t want this to – to affect whatever trust we got between us, but – if you ain't comfortable being friends after this... Well, gotta be honest, that'd be a damn shame, a _damn_ shame, but I get it.” He musters a weak smile. “It's enough just to have told you. When it's my time to go I'll know that I was capable of feelin' this way for another human being – 'cause, y'know, for a while there I really wasn't sure?”

 

He scratches his cheek. “Anyway. I’ll leave you be. Don't... don't feel you gotta avoid me, or stay outta my way or any bullcrap like that, alright, sweetheart?” He turns to go.

 

“Wait.”

 

Hanzo darts out his hand, stops it hovering over Jesse's wrist. “Jesse, wait. I have never – but that is not to say I do not –”

 

He licks his dry lips, swallows, and doesn't say anything more.

 

Hope rises like the sun. Slowly, Jesse turns back to face him. He lifts his hand until it bumps into Hanzo's stiffened fingers; gently, he catches them, rubs his thumb over the fading scrapes and bruises on Hanzo's knuckles, and when a trembling breath escapes Hanzo's parted lips he lowers their arms and steps closer.

 

“This okay?”

 

Hanzo keeps staring wide-eyed at their joined hands. He brings his free hand up so he's cradling Jesse's palm between both his own, and takes a deep, slow breath. “I have never done this,” he exhales. “Not with a person who – meant _much_ , to me.”

 

Jesse lays his prothesis over top, so all their hands are wrapped up together. “Nor have I,” he confesses. “We're in the same boat here, you and me.”

 

Hanzo hums a little note of agreement.

 

“Maybe we've gone about this somewhat sideways, but… What say we play it by ear, from here on out? Figure it out together?”

 

Hanzo is quiet. Jesse's heartbeat pounds. His Hanzo-reading skills only extend so far; he has no idea what Hanzo's thinking. No idea whether or not he’ll decide what Jesse hopes for is too much effort, too much vulnerability for so little reward.

 

The fine muscles in Hanzo's jaw tense. His chin lifts, though his gaze is still directed down at their clasped hands, half-hidden beneath a fan of thick, dark lashes. He clears his throat, then says, voice rough but words steady, “I see little reason why not. It should hardly be difficult.”

 

Jesse melts into a helpless grin. “Even if the goin' does get tough, you like a good challenge, don't you darlin'?”

 

Hanzo looks up. His eyes are dancing, a spark that has nothing to do with the dragons and everything to do with the same excitement rushing through Jesse's blood, as they take the leap over the cliff edge together. “I do,” Hanzo says. He smiles. “As do you.”

 

“Damn right.” Jesse's laugh shakes out, shivering with joy. “Well hell, alright. Let's do this, you and me. Partners. Yeah?”

 

“Partners,” Hanzo echoes, and squeezes their hands tight.

 

* * *

 

(“Fuck,” Hanzo grunts a few minutes later, pinching his nose. “This means Genji was _right_.”

 

Jesse chuckles. “No reason he needs to be told that just yet. Can't say I'm begrudgin' him for it, though, can you?”

 

Hanzo makes a noise that suggests he could _very well_ begrudge Genji, and for _a good long while, thank you,_ but he moves without resistance when Jesse gathers him in closer to kiss away the wrinkle between his brows, and only lets Jesse pull away in order to lay more kisses elsewhere, which he returns with happy enthusiasm.

 

They end up late for breakfast.)

 

 

 


End file.
